Whether because the footing was still somewhat uncertain or to spare her knee, Moira did not walk as fast.
“What happened back there anyway?” Wiz asked when the clearing was lost from sight.
“What do you mean?”
“Between you and Lothar. Everything started out all right, then—boom—it was like you’d bumped into your ex at a cocktail party.”
“My ex at a . . . ?”
“I mean you both got real cold and distant,” he amended.
“Was it that obvious? Moira sighed. “I tried to conceal it. He gave us shelter and aid when we needed it and that is no small thing in the Wild Wood. I should have tried harder to be gracious.”
“Yeah, but why?”
“Because he is a fool!” Moira snapped. “There is no place in the wild wood for mortals, Sparrow. Only fools try to live here and they fail.”
“I guess it was rough at first, but he seems to be doing all right now.”
“Yes. Because he bartered away his daughter.”
“What?”
“You heard the child. His daughter has been given to the elves in trade for the safety of his miserable farm!”
“He traded his daughter to the elves?”
“Life in the Wild Wood is hard for those who have little magic.” She smiled a little bitterly. “Call it a ‘fostering.’ That puts a better face upon it.”
“What did they want with her?”
“As the little one said. She is a nursemaid to an elven infant.” Moira’s face softened. “Elves seldom have young. That must have been an event beneath the Elf Hill.”
“Wait a minute,” Wiz protested. “She wasn’t . . . ah, I mean she wasn’t married when she went, was she?”
“You mean was she unspoiled? Probably. Elves prefer virgin’s milk when they can get it.”
“But how . . . ? Oh, magic. Never mind.”
They walked on a bit in silence. “What a fate. Locked under a hill forever.”
“It has its compensations. The elves are kind enough in their unhuman fashion. They do not mistreat their servants.”
“But to spend your whole life like that!”
“No,” Moira said. “Time passes oddly under the hill. Someday, when the elf child needs her no longer, she will emerge as young as when she went in.” She sobered. “Of course that stead will likely long be dust by then and there will be none who know her. That is the cruelest fate.”
“Yeah,” Wiz said, thinking of the graves. “I’m not sure living in safety is worth what it cost Lothar.”
“The price has only been partly paid.” Moira made a face. “Wait. As the children grow up they will go one by one to drudge for the elves. Plague, murrain, raids by trolls or others. There will always be another need and Lothar will always return to the elf hill to seek aid.”
Wiz was shocked. “Doesn’t Lothar realize that?”
“Not he,” she said contemptuously. “I have seen his kind before. He hopes long and hard that something will happen. Like most mortals he lives for today and puts off the reckoning as long as he may.” She increased her pace.
“It is an old, old story, Sparrow. As farms get smaller and the soil wears out within the Fringe there have always been those who sought to go beyond it to carve out new homes. But the Wild Wood is not for mortals. It is a place full of Magic, given to others, and mortals violate it at their peril.”
“Well, why not? My whole country was a howling wilderness once and we settled it.”
“Because the magic in the Wild Wood is too strong, Sparrow. Within the Fringe the hedge witches and other orders can stand between the World’s magic and people. Beyond the Fringe there is too much powerful magic. If we were to make the attempt we would only be swept away and our people with us. Believe me Sparrow, it has been tried and it has never worked. The Fringe is this limit of lands where mortals can live.”
“Umm,” said Wiz again and shifted his pack.
“What did Lothar mean when he said his grandfather knew this place?” he said after they had walked a bit more.